


The Ides of March

by vivianblakesunrisebay



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Patrick makes everything okay, Unhappy Childhood, episode coda, referenced childhood bedwetting, s6e02 the Incident
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-22 14:23:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22284235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivianblakesunrisebay/pseuds/vivianblakesunrisebay
Summary: Patrick asks David why the Ides of March was an exciting day for him. David tells Patrick a story from his childhood. Patrick helps him feel better about it.Coda to s6e02, "The Incident."
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 73
Kudos: 335





	The Ides of March

**Author's Note:**

> Moira tells Patrick in "The Incident" that David's childhood bedwetting occurred around dates like birthdays, Christmas, and the Ides of March. This is my idea of why that date might have been a key memory for him.
> 
> Content warning that the memory is sad.

“So why the Ides of March?” Patrick said.

“What?” David said. He was curled up on his side, facing Patrick. Patrick was lying on his back. The only light streamed in from the gap in the curtains. David could just make out the line of his fiancé’s profile in the dark. His fiancé. He was still getting used to the idea that he, David Rose, had a fiancé. 

This awful day was finally, finally drawing to a close.

Patrick said, “Your mother mentioned the Ides of March as a day that—a day that was, uh, exciting for you. Along with your birthday and Christmas.”

David said, “She remembered that?”

“So there was something?”

“Yeah, there was something,” David said. 

*

“Are you nervous?” Adelina said.

“No,” David said, although he was, of course.

He was in bed. Adelina had come in to say goodnight.

“I would like to see your play tomorrow,” she said. “If there is an extra ticket, I'd like to come.”

“There won’t be,” he said. “They only gave us two, and Mom and Dad are using them.” 

“But if there is,” Adelina said.

“There won’t be,” David snapped. Then he relented a little. “I’ll act it out for you tomorrow night. For you and Alexis.”

“All right, I would like that,” she said. She smiled. “Good night, David.”

She turned to go, then paused by the door. She said, “Did you try?” and nodded toward the bathroom.

“Of course,” he said, although honestly he couldn’t remember if he had or not. He wanted her to just go already.

She went. 

David turned on his side, burrowing into his pillows. Tomorrow was March 15. The Ides of March. He knew March 15 was called that because tomorrow he and the rest of his third-grade class were putting on a play about Julius Caesar, who died on the Ides of March. David was playing the lead.

He knew his lines. He knew what to do. He had practiced, again and again. He had practiced in the theater in the playroom. He made Alexis pull the curtain open and then sit down in front of the stage to be his audience. He didn’t practice in front of Mom and Dad—that is, he wouldn’t have, even if he had gotten a chance. He wanted them to get the full impact at the performance tomorrow. Getting the full impact was important. He knew that from Mom.

David let his mind wander, thinking about what their reaction would be. Mom would say, “Oh, David, another thespian in the family!” and kiss him on both cheeks. Dad might say, “Son, you were wonderful!” Then he’d would say something boring about history, or he’d mention which movie versions of Julius Caesar they carried at Rose Video, and Mom would laugh at him, and David would too.

David was excited, thinking about it. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this excited. Maybe Christmas.

Christmas. David’s stomach clenched up. He remembered what had happened then. Christmas morning. Mom’s voice: “Oh, did we have a nighttime oopsy-daisy?” 

_Oopsy-daisy._ Ugh. Why did she say that? Why did those nights always have to happen when he was about to see Mom and Dad? Not that they got mad. Mom didn’t get mad. She thought it was funny.

That was worse, actually. Being laughed at.

It was Adelina who helped him, got his pajamas and the sheets to the laundry. She felt sorry for him, he could tell. And that was the worst too. Everything was the worst, those nights. 

But not tonight. Everything had to go right tonight, because tomorrow was the Ides of March and his play. Mom and Dad were coming. They had promised. 

David’s stomach started hurting again. He knew the fact that they had promised didn’t mean that much. It was only the first step. A lot of other things had to go right. Things happened, a lot of the time, when his parents had plans with him or Alexis. Dad had meetings. Mom had auditions, or reshoots.

Other times, they just forgot. 

And that was okay, really. A lot of the time, David agreed that whatever school thing or camp thing he was doing was stupid, not worth their time. It was barely worth _his_ time.

But the play _was_ worth his time. It was worth his parents’ time too. His teacher had gotten costumes and props from a real production studio. She had worked with the cast so that most of them were actually pretty good, and she had cast him, David Rose, in the lead. He was Julius Caesar. He was wearing a real toga, and he had a death scene.

So his parents had to come. This was something _worth seeing._ His excitement rose again. His whole body was humming with it.

 _The play will go well. Mom and Dad will come,_ he told himself. He repeated it, over and over.

He looked around the room. His room was very neat, like the rest of the house. The rest of the house was only neat because Marta and Elena kept it neat. But his room was neat because _he_ kept it neat. When Marta and Elena came in, they dusted and vacuumed or whatever they did, but they didn’t pay attention to the order and placement of his things. They had been in today. He could see some of his things were out of place.

If he straightened the things on the shelves, if he made sure everything was just where it should be, then the play would go well, and Mom and Dad would surely come.

That was a stupid thought. He needed to go to sleep. _Rest is very important for an actor,_ Mom said whenever he and Alexis played Sleepy Mommy.

But now the idea was lodged in his mind. Now if he _didn’t_ do it …

He slid out from under the covers. He went to his toy shelf, full of complicated Lego sets he didn’t play with much. Dad got him those. Rockets and boats and other boring things. He straightened them carefully so they were lined up.

He went to his desk. He looked at his art supplies. Pens, brushes, charcoals, pencils, paints, all arranged by color. He ran his fingers over them, rolling them under his palms, liking how they felt, the orderly patterns they made.

He opened the closet and touched each of his shirts, feeling the fabrics: the cotton knits, scratchy wool, delicate silks. He nudged the hangers along the bar, making sure they were spaced evenly. He knelt down and lined up his shoes.

He went into the bathroom. He opened up the cabinet over the sink. He arranged all the bottles so they were facing forward. He adjusted the towels so the hanging part in the front exactly lined up with the hanging part in the back.

He went back in his room and looked around. Everything looked neat. It looked correct. 

_The play will go well. Mom and Dad will come._

*

When David woke up the next morning, he felt the wetness first. And he knew with a hollow feeling of dread that it had happened again.

He opened his eyes to see his mother standing at the foot of his bed.

That was wrong. She hardly ever came to this wing of the house. 

He had one overriding thought. _Mom can’t know._ Maybe if he lay very still, if he didn’t move, he could—

“Where’s Adelina?” David said.

“She’s still in her quarters,” Mom said. “I merely came in to say goodbye. Your father and I are departing in the jet this morning.”

“But today is the Ides of March,” he said, wanting to jump to his feet, to grab her and prevent her from leaving. But he couldn’t, not without giving away what had happened. He couldn’t do it, anyway. Mom didn’t like it. He forced himself to stay still.

“Is it the Ides of March? Julius Caesar, are we?” She was smiling.

“Yes, I _am_ Julius Caesar, actually. I am playing him. At school,” he said, willing her to remember.

His mother made a face. “Oh, was that today? I’m so sorry, but Al and Tipper have invited us to a Peruvian Ayahuasca retreat. Isn’t that exciting? Your father and I are in dire need of re-centering.” 

“But you promised,” David said, knowing how useless those words were.

His mother smiled again, but now it was her fake smile. “Oh, David, you are so talented that I’m sure we will have many more opportunities to see you perform.”

She seemed like she was about to leave, but then she looked at his face and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Don’t!” he said.

“Why?“ Mom said, but then she knew. He saw it on her face, the moment she realized. She gave him that amused look, the twist of the head, the little smile. He waited, dreading the words: _oopsy-daisy._

She didn’t say it. She patted him and stood up.

“I’ll let Adelina know, dear. Break a leg today!” She blew him a kiss and then she was gone.

After she left, David looked around the room, at all the correct arrangement of all of his beautiful things. It didn’t matter. His body had betrayed him. Mom and Dad wouldn’t come.

The wet spot was very cold. He knew he had to get up. Adelina would come soon. She would say, “I am glad I get to come to your play after all.” She would feel sorry for him. She would try to make him feel better. He would feel better. 

Eventually.

*

Patrick didn’t say anything, but his arm snaked over David's waist, and he pulled him close.

“It’s fine, Patrick,” David said, but he let himself be pulled. “It was a very long time ago.”

“I wish I could go back—” Patrick said, then stopped. “Your parents missed out,” he said softly. His fingers gently stroked his head.

David pulled back a little. He said, “Um, they really didn’t? We were a bunch of obnoxious rich kids whose egos had been puffed up by a teacher who knew what side her bread was buttered on.”

Patrick only pulled him back in and kissed him softly. “So how did it go that day? Your performance.”

“It went fine. Adelina came, and she brought Alexis.” 

Patrick was still looking at him with his eyes all soft and concerned, his heart obviously breaking for eight year old David. 

“I’m fine, Patrick, really,” David said, rolling his eyes. But he felt warm and weak at the knees. Could you feel weak at the knees when you were lying down? Well, he did.

“Do you remember any of it?” Patrick said. 

“What?”

“Your part. Your performance.”

“You don’t want to hear that.”

“Oh, but I do.”

“I don’t remember it.”

“Not even a little? Not even the death scene?”

“Well, okay.” David pulled away so he could sit up. “So, this is right before I finally died. I had a lot of lines between being stabbed and dying.”

“I’m ready. Lay it on me,” Patrick said, sitting up a little.

David said, _“I curse you! I curse you all! You have killed me, but you have also killed the Roman Empire!”_ He gave it the full Moira Rose treatment, his voice rising to a shriek. 

Patrick gasped and put his hand on his heart. 

David went on,“And then I stumbled around the stage, groaning and pointing at all the people who had betrayed me—” He pointed at different places around the room.

“I can picture it.” Even in the dim light, David could see Patrick’s smile.

“—and then, with everyone else on stage just silent and staring, I pointed last at Brutus”—David pointed at Patrick—“and I said _‘Et tu Brute?’”_ —David demonstrated how he’d said it, choked up, croaking it out— “and collapsed.” David sprawled on Patrick’s chest.

Patrick made an “oof” sound as David fell, then wrapped his arms around him. 

“I have chills,” Patrick said. That’s what he said, but he still had his mouth guard in, so it sounded more like “thcthills.”

David propped up his head. “What was that?” he said.

Patrick tried again. “I have tchtills.” 

“Mm. Still didn’t get it. Maybe if you put in your nose thing, I could understand what you’re saying.”

Patrick reached down and pinched him hard on the hip, and David buried his head in Patrick’s chest to hide his laugh.

Patrick scooted back down and tugged at David until David was in his favorite place to fall sleep, under Patrick’s arm, his head on Patrick’s shoulder, his body all pressed up against Patrick's side.

“Good night, David,” Patrick murmured.

“Good night, Patrick.”

As David shifted, getting comfortable, he felt the plastic sheet crinkle underneath him. He felt a flash of embarrassment and shame, but he was so tired and warm and comfortable, it felt very far away.

It was far away. Far away from where he was now, in the warm circle of Patrick’s arms, with Patrick’s body solid and strong against him. And Patrick wasn’t going anywhere.


End file.
